


My Rewards for Being, was This

by middlemarch



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: American Civil War, Conversations, F/M, Gen, Memory, Purpose, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 10:10:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9119050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: He hadn't seen her without her apron for weeks.





	

“They’ll work you to death, between to two of them, Mary. Why do you allow it?” Jed asked. 

He’d learned not to challenge her too directly if he wanted a longer conversation, especially when her eyes looked tired, her hands moving with a slow grace that meant she was not thinking about what she was doing, was so familiar she could sew or wash or write while almost half-asleep. Nurse Hastings had insisted Mary attend to a near-infinite tower of dirty basins and he knew that Captain McBurney’s new directives required additional work for her, with little obvious benefit; he’d never seen her refuse a request on her own behalf, though she’d fight like a lioness for him or Hopkins, if she felt Miss Gibson was being taken advantage of. He didn’t try to interrupt her now, but began wiping the metal bowls dry and she paused when she saw it, ready to tell him he needn’t, he ought not but he raised an eyebrow at her and he saw her expression shift.

“Before I married, I thought I would look after my brother’s children and do whatever work making patterns and designs for the mill that they asked. I never thought—when I had an offer, I was shocked and so happy, I meant to be an excellent wife, the most devoted mother. And I like to think I made a good wife but for such a short time and then, it seemed there was nothing for me to do left under Heaven,” she explained. He didn’t think Eliza had ever imagined her future as Mary had but then, it was a question he’d never thought to ask. He mustn’t assume her shortcoming when his was evident and incontrovertible.

“To simply exist, for me, it’s a terrible thing, Jedediah. To have a purpose, however lowly it may seem to another, that is what I crave, what I require to live, as McBurney needs his rules and Nurse Hastings her commands. To be without it, aimless, whether in poverty or luxury would make no difference to me, I should be equally bereft,” she added. It made sense, a great deal of sense given what he knew of her and what he suspected, but still it distressed him to see her risk her health, to note the violet shadows beneath her eyes and remember how many nights it had been since she’d sat across from him in the library, busy with her mathematics, biting at that plump lower lip while she read, until she scribbled something on the foolscap beside the heavy volume, her pleasure at some achievement visible and utterly charming.

“But, there are degrees, certainly. It would be arrogant to think you are capable of undertaking every commission, don’t you agree?” Jed asked, fairly certain she would take his meaning. She’d stopped scrubbing the basins at the very least and rested her hands on the lip of the deep sink. Her cuffs were turned back and her bare wrists were beautiful without the paired gold bracelets Eliza would have wanted.

“I shouldn’t wish you to think me so conceited,” she smiled. “But you may have heard Captain McBurney mislaid his latest inventory and the plans he has to rearrange the smaller ward and I cannot say what happened to them,” she remarked, patting one of the large pockets on her stained apron; he heard the rustle of papers, saw the way the cloth strained against them. Her mouth was solemn but her eyes…

“Why, Mary! To think the Head Nurse should…intervene thus,” he laughed, all approval and no little proud glee at her actions.

“What else should a Head Nurse do then? My purpose is the success of this hospital, however it may to be accomplished is my charge. I don’t quail at necessity. We Yankee women are known for our practicality, are we not?” 

He laid down the damp rag and took her hand then, that practical hand that must work, as her heart and mind must, and only held it. For the moment, for the rest of his life, it would seem that must be his purpose but he knew better than to say it.

“I hardly style myself an expert on the whole of Yankee womanhood, but you must be right,” he answered. He didn’t let go of her hand and she did not withdraw it.

“Modest **and** agreeable! Where has Jedediah Foster gone?” she teased. She was fatigued but not in spirit, she only needed care to flourish and he would give all that she permitted.

“I’m right here, Mary.”

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my story for the prompt "purpose" I wonder if McBurney can be half so awful as I've already made him out to be and I only hope Mary will be as subversive...
> 
> The title is from Emily Dickinson.


End file.
